


muscle memory

by slimelupine



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ass Play, Ethically Sourced MarTim, Hotdogging, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tim Stoker Has A Big Fat Ass, Yes I DO make the rules!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26034310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slimelupine/pseuds/slimelupine
Summary: It's difficult to remember what has happened already in the endless hallway of the Spiral, so much so that it's easy to lose one's sense of time. Tim has a solution.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	muscle memory

**Author's Note:**

> I surprisingly have not seen many like, explicit fics focusing on the time Martin and Tim were trapped together, so! I, uh, decided I would write this! o///o

Martin couldn’t have been sure how long it had been. 

He had a rough estimate, but his rough estimate had the wildly conflicting benchmarks of “two hours” and “a week and a half”. It was useless trying to check phones or watches, and Martin and Tim had long since come to terms with that. Or at least, it felt like they’d long since come to terms with it. Depending on how long it had actually been. Phones and digital watches just displayed an image of an unending hallway, the same palette of dull red and yellow stretching and stretching with no intention of stopping. Analog watch hands just twitched, like a flipped-upside down insects scrabbling legs, occasionally moving from but always fixed around a certain point. 

Really, the only thing Martin could use as a guess for how much time had passed was how much time had passed between his present moment, and something either himself or Tim had done. And even that was difficult, because there were points where Martin genuinely felt that the same thing was happening, again, on repeat, like time itself was also looping. 

Martin looked at Tim, who had slowed his pace and was lowering himself on the floor and repositioning his legs. Again. 

“Oh, come on,” sighed Martin, giving Tim a half-tired-half-worried look, “really? Right now?”

Tim looked up at Martin, quizzically, but not earnestly. “What do you mean, right now?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Martin, you _know_ this place is weird. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly figured out how time is passing--”

“I, I didn’t, but--”

“ _Just_ so you can tell me not to do stretches. Because that’s a pretty terrible way to tell me you figured everything out.”

“I didn’t, Tim, I _didn’t_. I’m just saying it...it can’t be safe to stay still for long. I mean, we don’t know what’s in here.”

“Mind if I hazard a guess?”

“What--uh, sure?”

“More endless and totally empty hallways.”

“That--I mean, _yes_ , but what if there’s, I, I don’t know, what if there’s something made out doors that’s going to eat us in here?”

“Then I’m pretty sure it would be respectful of me not wanting my muscles to atrophy in here.”

“ _Tim_.”

“Look,” Tim pulled his torso upwards, keeping one leg under his waist and the other stretched behind him, “just, relax, Martin.”

“ _Relax_ ? _Here_ ? Look, I, I get it, ha-ha, make fun of how worried Martin always is, Martin, the guy who was worried his whole life until the day he died, but I don’t think I’m totally _unreasonable_ , here. We don’t know what’s in here, Tim, and I don’t think that whatever is in here is going to care about you needing time to keep your muscles from going limp.”

Tim huffed a laugh. “Ew, Martin. Don’t say it like that.”

“I’ll say it however I want. You’re not taking this seriously.”

A short silence. Tim stretched his leg to its fullest potential. 

“Or maybe, I am, and I’m just not taking it the way _you_ define seriously.”

Martin was quiet for a moment, and then looked at Tim, head tilted. “How do _you_ define ‘seriously’, then?”

“By taking advantage of the moments where we aren’t being chased by some monster made out of doors. Which, if I might add, hasn’t happened yet, Martin. Look, it’s easier for me to remember doing things like this than it is the last time you told me all about how important spiders are. You do that a lot and it all sort of blends together.”

“Well, it’s only because you tried killing one the other day, and--”

“Meant that in a good way, Martin.”

“Oh. Well, I,” Martin sighed, and then shrugged. “I guess I didn’t think about, uh, about, about muscle memory, and all. That’s...that’s fair. Sorry.”

“Just taking advantage of the time we’re not being chased by a door monster. And like. Seriously, Martin? That’s the scariest thing you can think of? Oooooh, big spooky door monster, here to open and close in your face and squeak because it hasn’t been oiled in several years.”

“It isn’t,” Martin crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, “but you’ll excuse me for not wanting to think about really scary things right now.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tim laughed a little, “okay, I get that.”

Tim continued stretching, and Martin looked at the surrounding hallway. It was as unremarkable as it had ever been. Nothing to indicate they had even moved. He wanted to think they had, and Tim was definitely on to something. Tim had repositioned himself so he could stretch his other leg, and when Martin glanced back at Tim, he really wished he hadn’t. 

The way Tim was stretching, Martin had a very good view of Tim’s arse. Very good. Despite wearing trousers that were strictly part of the dress code (at Jon’s insistence), they didn’t leave that much up to the imagination (and knowing Tim, that might’ve been purposeful). Martin hadn’t noticed how much Tim’s arse really stood out from the rest of his body, firm and thick. His trousers clung to it like a second skin, and had they been only a little bit smaller, it’s entirely possible they would’ve ripped as soon as Tim tried stretching the way he was presently. Tim repositioned himself again, this time on his hands and one knee. It was incredible, watching Tim’s arse move, simultaneously so connected and disconnected with the rest of his body. It moved in tandem with his legs, shifting fluidly, but it stuck out so proudly from his legs and developed thighs.

Martin felt himself flushing, and wanted nothing more than to be able to look away. But at the same time, looking was wonderful. He couldn’t pretend he’d never looked before, and had never been a little flustered by watching Tim from behind, surreptitiously gazing at Tim’s arse as it gently swayed from side to side. But it was something else, watching Tim’s arse test the elasticity of the trousers they were in, plainly separate from his body, looking more and more like at any given moment they might tear open, unable to contain his generous, ample--

“ _Martin_?” Tim was looking at Martin with an expression that was almost entirely shock, eyebrows raised and eyes wide.

“Um!” Martin felt what might’ve been all of the blood in his body rush to his face, and launched into a stream of apologies, “um, I, s-sorry, sorry! S-sorry, sorry, sorry, Tim, I, I didn’t, I wasn’t trying to, I, I wasn’t, I didn’t, it’s just, um, uh, I, there’s, there was nothing else to, to look at, s-sorry, so, so I, I’m sorry, I j-just, I sort of, I just--I d-didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t m-mean to stare, or, or, or stare that l-long, I just…”

Tim’s expression softened, although it was clear he was still surprised. Martin’s heart was pounding, and he knew that his face was only betraying his embarrassment further. Martin flapped his hands, trying desperately to get his bearings, and Tim chuckled softly and pulled himself up. 

“T-Tim, I,” Martin started, still struggling to find the words he needed, “I-I’m, I’m sorry, I’ll, I’ll um, you, you can g-go back, to, to stretching, I, I promise, I, I um, um, I won’t, I won’t look this time, I-I’m sorry, I, er...sorry.”

“Hey, Martin?”

“T-Tim?”

“Be honest, alright?”

“Um--?”

Tim flashed Martin an insufferable grin. “Did you see something you like?”

“I--! Tim, c-come on, I--Tim.”

“What? 

“I, I s-said I was sorry, you don’t need to...to do t-this, I--” Martin sighed and covered his face, trying desperately to process all the emotions he was feeling at once. He felt hot, stinging tears collecting in his eyes, and felt his hands shaking. Tim was silent for a few seconds, before Martin heard footsteps approaching him. 

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Martin felt one of Tim’s hands on his arms, “I--sorry. I wasn’t...I wasn’t trying to make fun of you.”

Martin kept his hands over his eyes and sighed shakily, hoping it was completely impossible to guess that he was beginning to cry. “N-no?”

Tim’s hand tightened on Martin’s arm. “Yeah, no, I...well, it’s just. Well. With how bad you have it for a certain asshole boss, I was...just a little surprised. Didn’t think you’d even notice.”

Martin stayed quiet for a moment, still feeling Tim’s hand on his arm. “Of c-course I noticed, Tim. Look, I...I’m sorry. I just...go back to what you were doing, I...I won’t look.”

“Stop apologizing,” sighed Tim, removing his hand from Martin’s arm, “I’m not mad about that, you know.”

“...What?”

“Well, yeah, I mean...come on, Martin, you really think I wear these trousers just because they feel good?”

“...Do they?”

“If I’m being honest, that actually is half of it. Never got the appeal of loose clothes. But I also don’t like going around pretending that I _don’t_ work out. Stare all you want. I’m just hoping you’re not suddenly paying attention because…” Tim trailed off, and sighed, a little bitterly. 

“Because…?”

“Nothing.”

“Tim.”

“I said nothing.”

“I mean it’s, it’s clearly something.”

“Because,” said Tim, after a moment’s pause, “because there’s nobody _else_ here.”

“...Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Tim, it...Tim. I-it isn’t.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No! I, I just, I,” Martin felt the color returning to his face again, and flapped his hands while trying to tell Tim exactly what he meant, without embarrassing himself. He stumbled over them for a moment or so, now looking at Tim without his hands in the way of his face. He stopped flapping his hands, long enough to grab Tim’s arm, looking at him, hoping this expression at least would carry how he felt. 

And looking at Martin, Tim felt his features soften. His expression was still flustered as ever, but it was genuine. Tim had exactly zero interest in getting in between whatever Martin and Jon had; less than zero, in fact, if that was even possible. If Martin wanted to dote on that smug prick, he could. But this had nothing to do with Jon, and Tim knew it. Martin knew it. That sparked something in Tim, deep down, that little flash of pride he always felt when he knew someone was checking him out, because there was something about him that they liked. And there was absolutely no shame in pursuing that, casually, noncommittally, so long as Martin had no shame in it, either. 

Tim pulled his arm back, so that his hand could rest in Martin’s. He gave Martin the chance to pull his hand away, resting his hand limply in Martin’s, but Martin made no attempt to let go of it. Martin’s hands were clammy and shaking, and Tim didn’t care. He felt Martin’s gaze on him, and it took Tim a moment or so to return it, just because he wanted it to pan out. The excited, curious, gently wanting look in Martin’s eyes made Tim’s heart start to race, and he cursed it silently for being so responsive, over Martin. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attractive--not in the slightest. But Martin was a bit of a dork, especially with this sort of thing. Tim couldn’t believe how attractive he was finding it.

“Hey,” said Tim, quietly, holding Martin’s hand and squeezing it, “did you want to keep looking?”

“ _W-what_?”

“Did you want to keep looking? Or--”

“ _Tim--!_ ”

“You...you don’t _need_ to. I just thought I’d offer.”

“I--Tim, I...isn’t it...it’s, it’s, it’s inappropriate, and, and, and unsafe, i-isn’t it?”

“Inappropriate? You started it.”

“That’s...t-that’s fair.”

“And I don’t know how unsafe it is here. It was scary at first, sure, but now it’s mostly just...kind of boring. Think if it was unsafe, we’d know by now.”

“Y-yeah, but, but, but what if whatever in here is waiting for us to think that...? I-I’m not, not saying you’re wrong, I...I just think…”

“Mmm.”

“...What?”

“Mmm, as in, I think maybe you’re thinking too much about this. It’s a yes or no question.”

Martin was quiet for what felt like hours, and could have been minutes. Could have, because it was so hard to tell in this place. Then he sighed, and squeezed Tim’s hand back, and looked at him. “I...I do want to.”

“Want to…?”

“W-want to, want to...to...to do m-more than, than just...y’know. But. Just...just...just, I...if we don’t...I don’t want to um, to do all this, and, and then...like if we...if nothing c-comes out of this, I don’t--”

“Nothing _needs_ to come out it, Martin,” said Tim, guiding Martin’s hand down his thigh, “alright? Sometimes people just do this. I’m not telling you we have to get married after this. Or anything else.”

“Y-you--you’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay,” sighed Martin, letting his hand move by itself down Tim’s thigh, over to his arse, “j-just...just don’t tell anyone, alright? Y-y’know, just because--”

“Martin.”

“What?”

“Quit babbling and just grab it already.”

Martin grumbled a little, before he grabbed Tim’s arse through his trousers. Not roughly, but with enough force that he could hold the skin of his arse in his hands. It was surprising just how tightly they fit. Martin would’ve been incapable of lifting them off of Tim without pinching them. He rubbed his hand along the curve of Tim’s arse, gently, feeling just how pronounced it was compared to the rest of his body. Pressing inwards, it was firm, muscular, but still gave to his hand. Martin hummed, letting his other hand travel down to caress Tim’s arse. Tim inhaled deeply, and Martin responded to this by spreading his hands out, feeling the weight of Tim’s arse in his hands, the protrusion of it. Tim shifted under Martin’s hands, the sway of his hips slow and sensual. Martin grasped at Tim’s arse a little more firmly this time, squeezing it and feeling it hold its shape. Martin made a small noise in the back of his throat, and ran his hands over the curve of Tim’s arse again. Tim chuckled, low and pleased, and Martin felt the depth of it reverberate into his chest. 

“Like it?”

“Yeah,” mumbled Martin, his breath shuddering, “I really like it.”

“I like yours, too,” said Tim, voice low. Martin gasped a little as he felt Tim’s arms snake around his waist, slowly, almost teasingly so. Martin tried, he really tried, not to whine, but found himself succumbing to it anyways as he felt Tim’s hands gripping the seat of his trousers.

“Always have, actually.”

“Wha--?”

“Mm-hmm. Always thought it was nice.”

“Tim…”

“Would’ve _loved_ it if you asked me if this ‘looked infested’,” mumbled Tim, squeezing Martin’s arse with both of his hands, “I would’ve looked for you. Would’ve looked thoroughly.”

“Oh, really?”

“Oh, yeah. Yes, really. And once I was done, I’d keep looking. Can never be too sure. And it’d be so nice to look at, so nice to feel. Maybe I’d just keep looking and feeling for hours and hours.”

Martin laughed a little at this, running his hands along Tim’s arse again, gently reticently over the crack of it, unsure. “And if I...if I wanted to look at yours, too? To make sure _you_ weren’t infested?”

“Then...then I’d let you,” Tim said, did not gasp, did _not_. “Yeah. I’d want you to.”

“What if...what if I wanted to do that right now?”

“Do what?” Tim knew what Martin was asking, but he wanted to hear Martin say it. 

“Um,” Martin flushed, and gave Tim’s arse a squeeze, “uh...y’know, uh...look at...look at your…”

“Just say it. Don’t think too hard about it. Don’t dance around it. Say it.”

“I...I want...I want to see your arse, Tim, without, without anything covering it.” He didn’t say it with confidence, but he meant it. Martin leaned forward, grasping more firmly at Tim now, pressing his groin into Tim’s thigh. 

“To see if I’m infested?” Tim smiled, wickedly.

“No, obviously, not to see if you’re infested. Jeez, Tim.”

"You did it with your tongue all the time."

"That's not fair. I didn't mean it like that."

"Sure felt like it sometimes."

"Shut up." Despite his words, Martin was smiling. 

Martin didn’t have much experience in this sort of thing. None, really. Tim could tell. Really, Tim could’ve guessed it, even without Martin’s modest touches and requests. And normally that might’ve been a problem for him. He was impatient, really, and generally didn’t want to have to walk someone through something like this. But the earnest, prurient look he could see on Martin’s face, coupled with the press of his cock against his thigh...Tim felt his own cock stiffen in response, and he smiled, despite himself. He gave Martin’s arse a squeeze and brought his lips to Martin’s. They were trembling, nervous, and eager. It wasn’t a deep kiss, not at all, but Martin melted into it with a little whine all the same.

“Tim…” Martin pulled away, slightly, and swallowed. He looked at Tim, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Martin?”

“I...I’ve never…” Martin trailed off, and looked away, face flushed.

“Yeah. I know.”

“You do? I...I don’t think I’ve ever told you.”

“No, you...you haven’t. But it’s pretty obvious, Martin.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not a bad thing.”

“No?”

“No,” Tim reached for one of Martin’s hands, and placed it over the button on his trousers, “it isn’t."

“W-well, I’ve...if it, if it means anything, I’ve...you know, I’ve sort of--um, like--not to other people, but to--you know.”

“I mean, I figured you did _that_ . The stall walls were making a _lot_ of noise that one time.”

“I told you, I didn’t, I didn’t think anyone was _around_ , and--”

“Martin K Blackwood, king of good wanks--”

“Shut _up_ , Jesus Christ,” Martin huffed a laugh and fiddled with the button on Tim’s trousers. His trousers were truly skin-tight, because it was harder than Martin thought to pull them down. They obstinately refused to come off of Tim’s arse, content to cling to it despite Martin’s physical protestations. Tim twisted his hips, and Martin finally, _finally_ pulled them down, letting them rest at Tim’s ankles. Martin could see Tim’s cock beginning to strain through his briefs, and he swallowed again, trying not to stare, and feeling his own cock twitch in his jeans. Martin took a shuddering breath, and gestured to the floor. Thinking about it, briefly, he wasn’t sure what exactly would happen afterwards, how cleaning up would even work, but that line of thought was quickly interrupted by watching Tim kick of his trousers completely as soon as he was on his hands and knees on the carpet, and slowly, slowly, began pulling his briefs down. Martin placed a hand over Tim’s, and helped Tim tug them down, faster. 

Tim looked up at Martin and smiled, a little smugly, eyes hooded. “Impatient, are we?”

Martin smiled and splayed his hands over Tim’s arse, feeling the gentle warmth of this skin and squeezing it. “A little, yeah.”

Without his trousers on, his arse seemed to stand out even more than it did before, with even less holding it back, pressing out beyond his thighs. His thighs did an incredible job supporting it though, thick and strong, his defined muscles visibly holding up his weight as Tim knelt on the floor. Martin had never really noticed before, just how muscular Tim’s thighs were, how is tight trousers were truly being pushed to their absolute limit with Tim’s sheer musculature, seemingly ready at any moment to burst through the thin fabric. Tim nudged his arse backwards, easing it into Martin’s hands and letting Martin really feel it. He grabbed both cheeks with his hands, and holding the muscle there and lifting them up, admiring the size and weight of them, the way they slid back into place when Martin released his grip. 

Tim felt his cock stiffen, free to do so effortlessly now that his trousers and pants were gone. The way Martin grabbed his ass was gentle, but firm. The way Martin lifted up his cheeks was wonderful, making him nearly lightheaded with how good it felt to have those hands on his arse, lifting it up and playing with it. When Martin lifted them up once more, Tim groaned, low, desperate for more. And Martin was more than responsive, moving his hands in circles around Tim’s arse, opening and closing the crease in the middle as he did so. Tim groaned again, feeling himself growing slick and heavy with every new movement Martin’s hands made. 

“Tim,” Martin gasped, and Martin turned to see Martin shakily trying to undo the button on his jeans. Tim nodded and turned around, gasping at the small amount of friction his thighs gave his cock. He helped Martin pull his jeans down, down, all the way off, and then got to work on his boxers. Before he could finish, he heard Martin sigh, and then felt Martin pull Tim’s lips up to his, catching them with his teeth. Tim exhaled through his nose, and kissed Martin back, slowly, dragging it out. Martin brought his hands up to Tim’s temples, and help them there, letting Tim pull down his boxers and settle on his hips. And they stayed there for a moment, before going to Martin’s arse and giving it a squeeze, relishing the give of it, the softness of it, and of Martin’s skin, before Tim worked his hands over to Martin’s jumper, settling underneath them and searching for his nipples. When Tim found them, Martin moaned, high and surprised, into Tim’s mouth and Tim took it in stride. Martin’s cock was pressed against Tim’s thigh now, firm and heavy, the weight of it making Tim lightheaded. 

The two of them made a tangled, hurried attempt at removing their shirts and throwing them away before they were clinched back together, Martin’s kisses and hands more confident, more purposeful. Martin made an uncomfortable noise, gasping a little as his cock slickened and rested against Tim’s thigh. Tim inhaled, sharply, reaching out, asking. 

“Martin--?”

“N-no, I,” Martin put a hand over Tim’s, “no, I want...want to…in between, your…”

“Just say it,” breathed Tim, his breaths shallow, “don’t think. Say.”

“I...let me...please, Tim, let me...I w-want it, right between, your…I want to put it in between them and...” Martin’s eyes were wide, his face flushed and hot, his lips swollen, his jaw trembling. Tim rolled himself over, giving Martin full range over his arse, and swaying it, just a little. He looked back at Martin, smirking.

“Dirty talk not your thing?”

“Er. No.”

“Got it.”

“Let me...let me know if it’s...if it’s too much, and I, I’ll stop.”

“Seriously doubt you will, king of wanks.”

“You’re the worst sometimes,” mumbled Martin, laughing a little, and repositioning his hips.

“Wait, wait,” Tim looked back again, “my trousers. Side pocket.”

“Oh, Tim,” was Martin’s incredulous reply, a few seconds later. “You...you just keep these in here?”

“You never know, Martin.” 

“I--! Well. No, you. I guess you were right. This time.”

“ _This_ time? What are you getting at, Blackwood?”

“I’m _saying_ you’re usually not right.”

Tim chuckled at this, but his chuckle turned into a gasp as he felt Martin’s cock start pressing in between against his arse, slick and hot. Martin positioned himself, a little shakily, softly nudging his cock in between Tim’s arse, taking his time. Tim gritted his teeth, wishing Martin would go faster, not wanting to pressure him. Each movement felt like it was taking a lifetime, and Tim moaned, softly, trying to encourage Martin to go faster, hissing through his teeth as he felt his cock beginning to throb. And then, finally, _finally_ , Martin has his cock placed between Tim’s cheeks, and he began to thrust. 

Martin gasped at the sensation, and his cock pulsed and urged him to keep moving, to maintain the friction. It felt wonderful, feeling his slick cock held tightly between Tim’s muscular arsecheeks, the hot embrace of them hitting Martin’s cock, both firm and tight and conforming to the shape of Martin’s cock at the same time. Martin whined, gripping Tim’s thigh and feeling his cock positively ache. Tim’s arse moved with Martin’s cock, rippling and shaking with every movement of Martin’s hips. Martin whined again, his cock heavy and leaking, gripping Tim’s thigh even harder as lost himself to how good it all felt, gasping Tim’s name as he came, his cock wedged inside of Tim’s arse.

A moment later, Martin, panting and spent, shakily removed his cock, from Tim’s arse and stumbled backwards, gazing at Tim, who sat down and put a hand between his legs and tested the weight of his cock, thick and leaking, starting to rub along its length. Tim looked at Martin, taking dazed, expression. Drinking in how satiated and satisfied Martin looked, his eyes lidded, his face flushed, his mouth open, his breathing slow. It was a matter of moments before Tim came in his hands, groaning in the back of his throat, Martin making a little surprised “oh!” as Tim pumped himself through the rest of it.

The two of them leaned against the wall of the hallway, content to stay there, at least for a little bit. They hadn’t felt tired the entire time they’d been here. Strange how tired, or at least, content and drowsy they both felt now. They wouldn’t fall asleep--they wouldn’t, not in this place--but at this point, Tim and Martin were well enough aware they could at least rest, for a while.

“Hey.” Tim turned to Martin, and looked at him. Martin looked back, giving Tim a little smile.

“Hm?”

“You know what I just realized?”

“What?”

“There is no way we’re just gonna forget we did this.”

Martin laughed, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Yeah. I don’t think so, either.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Afterward:
> 
> And then Michael kicked them out of the Spiral for hotdogging and leaving a come stain on the carpet. 
> 
> *Michael voice* It’ll take me oh-so-long to get that goddamn stain out. 8(


End file.
